So last week I went back to the doctor to get some tests done on my arm to try and figure out what the hell I did to myself. Five months ago. That I’m just now trying to get taken care of. Cuz that’s how I roll. I am not a big fan of doctors ever since one “accidentally” punctured through something that was not supposed to be punctured through during what was supposed to be an outpatient surgery. And since another one “accidentally” paralyzed my left vocal cord during another surgery, causing me to permanently LOSE THE ABILITY TO SPEAK unless I occasionally get collagen injections in there, which involves a giant needle digging into my neck and me crying like a baby who has a giant needle digging around in her neck. So sometimes I kinda put things off, which is just my way of avoiding being maimed. Yes, I know that there is a slight chance I could also get healed if I just grew some balls and went to the doctor, but there is about 100 times more of a chance that I’ll get “accidentally” malpracticed to death.

Anyway, the doctor had this test done on my arm in which they stick needles all over me and just ever so slightly electrocute the shit out of me. I had myself totally worked up about it for days, but in the scheme of barbaric things that doctor’s have done to me….this wasn’t bad. Except for the last few minutes during which I dropped the F-Bomb a few times, followed by a nice “Sorry” each time. I am nothing if not polite.

So basically the results showed that they don’t know what the hell is wrong with my shoulder still, but I have carpal freakin’ tunnel in my right hand. Which I’ve been telling people is from my day job of giving Handy J’s in the alley behind my house, but is really from too much Rock Band guitar and blogging. But the Handy J. story is just much less embarrassing than the truth. And my friend Lisa helped me realize that this whole thing is Steve’s fault, of course. He bought me the Rock Band, and he bought the new MacBook, which puts my arms in a terrible position for tiny animal internet surfing and blogging safety. More proof that The Hub really needs to get his act together.

Anyhow, remember the recent blog post where I said I’d like either a human arm transplant or a giant swiss army knife arm? Last night on my favorite show American Pickers, I spotted a giant swiss army knife in the background, and I tried to telekinetically tell Mike that he needed to buy it for my arm replacement but it didn’t work, probably because that show is taped and not live, and not at all because my telekinesis doesn’t work. I’m sure that wherever Mike was last night, he heard a little voice in his head telling him to get that damn giant knife. I have complete confidence in my powers, because once when I was 8 I made this mean girl fall off her bike just by thinking about it really hard. True story.

On the left is a photo of the giant Swiss army knife that I want my arm replaced with, and some scary guy who is obviously the guardian of the giant Swiss army knife that someone will have to kill in order to get it for me. On the right is a photo of a giant Swiss cake roll that I got distracted by while trying to google image giant Swiss army knife and spotting the option of giant Swiss cake roll. I am PMS-ing and I want this pretty bad. And if I had my Swiss army arm I would have a knife to cut it and a fork to eat it with and my life would be that much closer to perfect.

So now I am wearing a brace that I hate because I have to take it off every time I pee, which is about 100 times a day. And I also keep hitting myself in the face with it while I sleep. And it hurts. I wish this had happened to my left hand instead, because that hand is just for show. It doesn’t really do anything except dangle there like a limp noodle anyway. But my right hand is super useful. I dial the phone with it. I text with it. I eat with it. I drink with it. I flip people off with it. I need it to be in tip top shape. But just in case worse comes to worst, I am practicing making margaritas with my feet. Priorities, people. Priorities.

Now in honor of all my friends and family who are enduring the Blizzard Of The Century, here is a photo of a tiny little seal covered in snow. You’re welcome.

I. Want. To. Hug. This. NOW.

One Response to “If It Was My Left Arm I’d Just Cut It Off. Like James Franco Pretended To Do In That Movie. Because Obviously I Am Much Tougher Than Him. And I Have A Better Mustache.”

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